beautiful woman, and the more time he spent with her, the more he looked forward to the next time they met. While getting dressed for this evening’s reception, he’d thought of what they could do tomorrow, where to take her and what to see. He hoped that she would like his choice and continue to allow him to be her escort while in Rome.
For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that he’d never left London, that he’d been able to meet Molly in society and court her as he liked. She certainly brought a calmness wherever she went, and he found himself wishing they had met before the scandal that sent him abroad broke.
His mother and brother conspiring for him to take the fall for his brother’s indiscretion ensured he was no longer part of that family. It goaded his pride that he’d had to live on the funds his brother sent to ensure his survival for some years, but for the past eight, he’d not had to. Out of spite, perhaps, he still cashed those checks from London, but turned around and donated the funds to the women of Rome, who found themselves enceinte and without a protector or husband.
It was the least he could do to try to honor Laura in some way, make recompense to the woman his brother had ruined.
“Why are you not dancing, Mr. Armstrong? You look well enough that I do believe you will survive a turn about the dancefloor.”
He chuckled, reveling in her bright eyes and smiling mouth that he had an overwhelming urge to lean down toward and kiss. To test his theory that her lips were as soft and willing as he suspected. Or at least hoped.
“We’re back to Mr. Armstrong? I did hope you would call me by my given name as we agreed.”
She shrugged, taking a glass of champagne from a passing servant before taking a sip. “We’re not alone, which was part of the agreement. What if someone should hear?”
“No one shall hear with all the noise of this party.” He wanted to hear his name on her lips. For all his fleeing of England had left a sour taste in his mouth, having Molly here, an English woman who was sweet and kind, to hear his name spoken by her did odd things to his soul. Warmed it after ten years of being chilled.
“Very well,” she said, smiling at him, the loveliest blush speckling her cheeks. “I shall do as you ask, but should anyone step nearby or other guests join us, we must revert to our formal names.”
“Agreed,” he said, turning back to take in the guests lest someone spy his marked attention on the woman who was lodging under his roof. He ought to leave, go to a hotel and stay there for the duration of her stay, but he could not, and for reasons he’d not think too far upon at present. “You have not danced as much as I thought you would.”
“Oh, I’ve danced plenty, and you very well know it. Why I just finished a dance with Lord Brandon, whom I know from London. Do you know him?”
Hugh schooled his features as a knot of anxiety lodged in his gut. Was Lord Brandon in Rome? How did he not know? His attention slipped over the crowd, and it did not take him long to spy the earl, who was mutual friends with Duke Whitstone. A peer who was fully cognizant of why he’d fled his homeland.
“How do you know the earl?” he asked.
“Through the Duke and Duchess of Whitstone.”
Hugh kept surreptitiously checking to see where Lord Brandon was situated. He was happy to see that within a few minutes of spying him, the gentleman and his handsome Italian wife were taking their leave of their hostess. He breathed deep, thankful his night had not ended with a confrontation between him and his lordship.
“Tell me how you came to know the Duchess of Whitstone? From the correspondence from His Grace? You’re very close friends.”
“We went to school with each other in France. Each of us was sent away from home for various reasons. I, because my parents feared that I would throw myself away on some rogue for reasons I shall not bore you with. Even so, we all met at Madame Dufour’s Refining School for girls. Our friendship has never waned over the years, and although our lives do take us on different paths, we always are there for each other